


Errors in Continuity

by whytho



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Help, Teen Beach Movie AU, a liberal use of lamp shading, heelpp, why have i made this???? i don't even know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whytho/pseuds/whytho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max winds up in a film. </p><p>He's not really sure what his life has become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, this is happening!!!
> 
> (i was gonna put a link in for a song all nice and neat like on the word 'here' but that's not working so *shrugs* it's https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vzsXJ0D2bM. yeah. if you haven't seen the movie/can't remember the songs this is how the one in this chap goes. what a jammin' tune amiright ladies) (it's from tbm if that wan't clear)

The sun was hot on Max’s back- not painfully so, but it was strong enough to irritate him and keep him sleepy. Sand pillowed around him, like a rough, scratchy blanket. Max could hear the ocean waves lapping gently against the shore, the noise gentle against the intensity of the sun. He curled up a little, luxuriating in the warmth, and tried to ignore the sounds above him.

“Five minutes, Mom,” he murmured, then bolted upright. "Um, what?"

A face swam above him, blurry with heat and sleep. “Are you okay?” the face asked, concern webbing their features.

Max rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” The face solidified, turning into a young, Max-aged girl. She was pretty, Max supposed, if you liked that whole 1960’s surfer-girl thing. Not that Max did. “Who are you? Actually, no, better question- where am I?”

The girl laughed, high and clear in the sunlight. It made Max’s head hurt even more. “I’m Isabel, and you’re in Mayview, of course!”

“Mayview,” Max repeated. “Where is Mayview?”

Isabel blinked at him. “It’s… here. On the beach.”

“Of course.” Max sighed, standing up. His head swam. “Oh, jeez,” he muttered, clutching his forehead. “What am I doing here?”

The last thing he remembered was going surfing with Sam and Doghouse back in Baxborough. Zoey had disapproved of them surfing in a storm, but even she had joined them on the beach. There were cute little sandwiches, and lemonade, and when Doghouse had dared Max to catch the biggest wave he could find, he did. And then he blacked out and landed on a beach in Mayview, wherever the heck that was.

Max sighed. He may have been on some strange beach somewhere, with a weird girl in weird clothes, but he was also hungry, and his hunger needed to be dealt with. “Can you- sorry, I’m just starving. Is there anywhere I can get food?”

Isabel grinned at him, for reasons Max couldn’t understand.. “You bet. Ready to meet the cornerstore gang?”

“Uhhh- sure.”

"Cool!" Isabel helped Max to his feet, smiling like a maniac at him.

"... I don't have any money."

\-----

When Max entered the cornerstore with Isabel, people were singing.

In the middle of the room, a tall, spiky haired boy stood face-to-face with a short blonde girl and an angry red-head, and all of them were singing.

Isabel sighed. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “They’re doing it again.”

The ginger boy, clad in a t-shirt and board shorts, rhythmically snapped his fingers. “Keepin’ it cool, smooth and steady,” he told the other two, actually singing, as a tiny blond boy behind him snapped along. Max stood in the doorway, horrified.

The red-head bared his teeth at the ginger and took the next line, talking about slicked back hair and leather. Max was in too much shock to figure out what he was saying. Then the two of them started singing together, and Max was officially Out Of It. Why, he thought, would anyone sing in the middle of a crowed diner-store-thing as their friends cheered? Were they doing a musical? No, Isabel told Max a lot of things about her friends on their walk, but she said nothing about a musical.

As he stood, shocked, in the doorway, Isabel sighed once more and made her way over to the center of the room. Some tiny corner of Max’s brain thought she would stop this nonsense, but alas. Instead, she joined in with the singing, and Max sunk deeper into confusion.

“Bubblegum, cherry pop, go to the hop,” she told the room as Max watched flabbergasted. Wrapping an arm around the blond boy, she sang, “Hangin’ with my brother cause his friends are so hot,” and winked at at least three different people. As Max sat down in complete shock, the rest of the room began singing along, and Max gave up.

Isabel stopped singing and made her way back over to Max. “So!” she started, apparently able to ignore the roomful of people dancing behind her. “Do you want a milkshake or a burger?”

As the red-head burst into a solo, Max stared at her. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“A milkshake or a burger?” Isabel repeated. She laughed, adding, “Don’t worry, it’s all on the house.”

“No, I mean- what the heck was that?” Max asked. “Why did you all just burst into a song? Is that a thing now? And why does this place look like the set of a cheap 60’s film?”

Isabel blinked at him. “Look, Max, I know you’ve had a shock, but you’re clearly a sensible person; use your sense. Have you forgotten anything else? Can you name all of the Beatles?”

Max swatted her hand away from his forehead, telling her, “Of course I can name all the Beatles! They were- oh.” He stared intently at her, eyes narrowed. “You- oh my god. You actually think you’re in a 1960’s musical, don’t you? Oh my god.”

“Max, are you okay? Did you hit your head or something? I- oh, look, there’s your milkshake.” She returned to browsing her menu, and Max stared at her. “What?”

Max stared harder, bewildered. “Nothing,” he said finally, popping his milkshake's cherry in his mouth. Isabel’s friends stopped singing, breathless and red-faced from the dancing, and walked over.

“Hey,” the ginger said casually, slapping hands with Izzy. He nodded to Max. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, this is Max,” Isabel told him. “I found him lying on the beach with no memory of how he ended up here, but he’s pretty cool.”

“Righteous!” the ginger crowed, grinning like a madman; Max didn't know if he was doing it ironically or seriously. “I’m Isaac.” He hooked a thumb to the tiny blond and added, “This one’s Ed.”

Isabel reached an arm around to mess up Ed’s hair, grinning. “My little bro,” she told Max. She hopped up, shaking out her hair, and announced, “You ready for a jukebox mystery?”

“What’s that?” Max asked. Isaac laughed; Max wasn’t sure if it was with him or at him. It may have been both.

Isabel ruffled his hair, too, and smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.” She bounded up to the cornerstore’s miniature stage and made a great production of inserting a quarter into a jukebox, all the while grinning. Max rolled his eyes and took a sip of his milkshake, trying to fish out the cherry with his tongue. Ed clapped halfheartedly at the stage.

Max froze as Isabel began singing in the background. There was a cherry in his drink. Maybe thirty seconds ago, Max had fished a cherry out of his milkshake, and he hadn’t put another one in the meantime. Isabel sang more. Max stared down into his cup in shock as Isaac slapped him on the back. “You alright, bra?”

Max nodded absently, still staring down at his cherry. In the back of his mind, he realized how ridiculous the situation was, but in the front of his brain he just thought, _This is continuity error_. He stood. _If there are continuity error in this place, then maybe…_ The stage wasn’t that far, not really, but Max’s legs felt like lead as he ran over to Isabel to tell her- he wasn't sure what he would tell her, but he would tell her something, because this was unreal. _This is actually a movie. I may have been magically transported into a 60’s musical. I am now part of some weird Grease-West Side Story mash-up._

_I need to get out of here._

As Max ran to the stage, he saw Isabel fall in slow motion. It was like a scene from a movie- _ha,_ Max thought- the girl tripped over a wire on the stage, and the boy, standing in front of the stage, caught her- and caught her heart. Max could only watch as the redhead Isaac had been singing at managed to stop Isabel’s fall. The room seemed to stop moving. Isabel, breathless, remained in the boy’s arms, and the boy could do nothing but stare into her eyes.

Oh, Max thought. So that’s what this is.

\-----

“So, uh, Isabel,” Max started. They were in Ed and Isabel’s house, because apparently her grandfather had no problem with a strange boy staying at his house, and Max was trying to figure out how this rom-com would work out. Would Max be the supportive best friend? Would he be the not-actually-a-love-interest that the redheaded boy thought was a love interest? How would this plot work itself out? “Who was that redheaded boy in the diner?”

Isaac, sitting on Izzy’s bed, snorted. “Him? That’s Johnny Jhonny, local greaser leader and the enemy of all surfers.” He rolled his eyes.

“...Ah.” Max scratched his head. The whole enemy thing might cause some problems. “Why don’t you like him?”

Isaac launched himself off the bed. “Why don’t we-! Max, greasers are the born foes of our people. We start hanging out with greasers, we ruin our lives. We start _liking_ greasers, we ruin the lives of everyone in this town.”

Curling himself up in the corner, Ed murmured, “I don’t think Johnny’s folks are so bad.” Isabel hummed quietly, agreeing, and Max thought Isaac might blow his top. Ed forged on. “I mean, he caught Izzy today an’ all, and whenever I talk to RJ, they seem like good people.”

“No,” Isaac told him firmly. “They may be good people, but they’re not our people.”

Isabel sighed. “Calm down, Isa. It’s not as if they’re those dweebs, or something- we’ll be fine if we just talk to them.”

Isaac groaned jokingly, moaning, “Those kooks! I swear, if Suzy starts talking about her club one more time, I’m making a petition to kick them out of the cornerstore.”

“And no one will argue!” Isabel declared, spinning her chair around. Ed laughed, and the others joined in, and Max felt a sort of companionship he wouldn’t have thought he could feel in Mayview. He flopped down on the floor and smiled, faintly, his grin hidden. Ed scooted over to him and curled up against his side, warm and small, like Zoey had done when she was a kid. Max felt a swell of homesickness and slipped an arm over Ed. Isabel, too, crawled off her chair and laid down next to Max, and the three of them stared up at Isaac.

“Well, Isa?” Isabel challenged.

Isaac huffed a laugh. “We’re too old for this,” he told them as he rolled off his bed. “And besides, isn’t Max a total stranger? Are you really comfortable with that?”

Ed smooshed himself closer to Max and defensively answered, “Yes.”

Isabel nodded along, the motion of it bunching Max’s shirt up. He wiggled it back into place, and Isaac laughed a little at the movement. Everyone else poked him for disturbing the pile, and he quieted, and the four of them were calm and quiet and content. It was hard, then, for Max to think of them all as nothing but movie characters. He hugged them closer.

“Hey,” Isabel said eventually, breaking the quiet. “The boys are having a party on the beach at midnight, and I was thinking that we could… ah...”

“Go?” Ed suggested. "Make an appearance?" She pouted at him, and Ed smiled teasingly.

Isaac rolled a little to face Isabel. “Yeah,” he said cautiously. “Max, d’you..?” Max considered this. On one hand, he despised parties, but on the other, he needed to see how this whole film would play out. To his movie knowledge, parties were big deals, and if plot was just going to fall into his lap, he'd take the chance to watch it play out. Shrugging, he replied, “Yeah, sure. It’ll give me the ultimate Mayview experience.”

Isabel grinned, sharp and pretty and definitely not what Max would expect a girl from the 60’s to look like. “Good. Ed, can you get me an outfit? I’ll work on Isaac’s hair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please accept the fact that Isabel now calls Isaac Isa. Isaac calls Isabel Isa. it's adorable.) (ed is kinda lonely but he also feels UNIQUE)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kay so like. i'd like to apologize for everything. including this whole chapter and its lateness. and any mistakes in it. 
> 
> (also i will not be writing much for like two weeks because i'm going on two trips!! yes fun times with the french language) (and then fun times with musical instruments the week after)

 

Parties, Max found, were a big deal, especially in Mayview. This one was huge, stretching from the beach to the cornerstore with a bonfire lit in between. Already it was fifty people strong, all of them teens and all of them wearing either board shorts, jeans, or plaid. Max shuddered at the mess of fashions, all old-school and all totally mismatched. 

 

“So,” Max asked Isabel, trying not seem obvious, as they loitered near the bonfire. “What’s with all these, uh, interesting fashion choices?” 

 

She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a practiced move, twisting her lips in a casual little motion. “Well,” she explained, “You have the nerds, over there, with all the khaki. Then there’s the greasers, who are all hopelessly lost when it comes to hair, or shoes, or anything other than leather. And of course we have the surfers.” 

 

“And that’s you?” Max prodded, ignoring his drink. It had been changing flavors all night, and when he finally finished it and went to fill it up again the bottle decided it was filled to the brim.. (Man, he hated continuity errors. This movie needed to get its act together.) 

 

Isabel grinned and nodded, flipping her hair once again. “Isaac’s wearing board shorts,” she told him. “What do you think?”

 

Max mulled over this for a second, rolling his drink between his hands as Isabel waltzed off to the store. He was still mulling it over as he stared above him, at the bright sky. It looked just as realistic as the one back in Baxborough, and Max had a hard time reminding himself that it was all just fake. The sky wasn’t really the sky, it was a copy of the stars that light the night this scene was filmed in 1960-whatever. He was still reminding himself of this- and mulling over the delicacies of 60’s cliques- when Ed slipped over from next to the drinks’ table to join him. 

 

“So,” Ed started, appearing almost out of nowhere. He was quick and sharp and slippery like the shadows the bonfire cast over his face, but he looked so young it made Max’s heart ache. Ed shouldn’t have been at a party like this; he shouldn’t have a bottle identical to Max’s clutched between his hands. “How do you like the party?” 

 

Max caught the corner of his lip between his teeth and replied, “It’s alright, I suppose. Not really my scene.” Ed gave a little indication of- of- it was  _ something, _ Max was sure. He continued. “And I mean, how come you can all get along and go to parties together? You and- and the greasers or whatever, and those kids with button-downs? Aren’t you meant to be enemies?” 

 

Ed made the same little motion, the same tilt of his head, and answered carefully, “It’s not like we don’t argue- you should see Isaac and Johnny on a bad day. But…” He turned into the fire, letting its light dance across his cheekbones and glasses. “...We know each other. Mayview isn’t huge, not like other cities, so we’ve all known each other for ages. Parties are just- we had things like this when we were kids, minus the drinks, and we’re probably gonna have 'em for a long time after.” 

 

Max bit his lip and didn't reply. Shivering, Ed slid a little closer to Max, who unconsciously wrapped an arm around him. Realizing what he did, he pulled it off immediately and muttered, “Oh… sorry. You just- when my little sister gets cold, I always hug her, so…” 

 

“It’s fine,” Ed interrupted. “You’re like Izzy, I think, only she would have made fun of me for forgetting my jacket. This is nicer.” 

 

Max looked down at Ed, snuggled into the crook of Max’s arm, and didn’t have the arm to pull it off again. Instead, he squeezed Ed tighter and whispered into his hair, “Do you think I could guide the two of us to the cornerstore for some Pepsi's while your eyes are closed?” 

 

Ed nodded immediately. “My eyes are already shut, cat.” 

 

\-----

 

Making his way to the cornerstore had been hard enough in the daytime, Max thought, but it was twelve times harder in the dark, when he had to direct a giggling Edward Burger around the tiny trail without tripping over any tree roots or unconscious teens. Max’s own restrained laughter wasn’t helping much, either, and the two of them stumbled around the beach like they were drunk for at least ten minutes without getting much closer to the cornerstore. 

 

It was hard for Max to focus on getting them off the shore. Behind Ed’s laughter and the noise of the party, Max could hear other little pieces of lives, a musical of guitar strums and waves lapping against the shore and a man’s gravelly voice, strong and rough beneath all the other sounds. He stopped to listen to the noises at the edge of a patch of trees, the fire on the other side of them just barely visible, and caught sight of two other figures standing between the bonfire and the trees.

 

Clinging to Max side, Ed whispered, “Max? Max. my eyes are still closed. I want to open them _soooo_ badly but I’m not sure about the…” 

 

Max shushed him, peering forward into the clump of trees. He could  _ just _ make out a few features on the two figures: long, dark hair on the other, a leather jacket on the other, and the two of them were… singing? He took a step closer. Yes, the both of them we definitely singing, as much as it pained Max to hear, and they were most likely singing about some romantic leanings or whatever- the things Max couldn’t stand. 

 

Ed tugged insistently on Max’s shirt. “Should I open my eyes? You’ve-” He stopped suddenly, closed eyes tightening, and pursed his lips. “That’s Izzy’s voice.” 

 

Max risked a glance away from the figures. “What? I don’t think that’s-” 

 

“That’s Isabel’s voice,” Ed repeated adamantly. “I know my own sister’s voice, Max, and that’s definitely it.” 

 

Looking down at Ed, Max hesitated. He chewed on his lip for a second, considering this, then dragged Ed down with him to creep forward. “We’ll just take a closer look,” he whispered. Ed squirmed uncomfortably, but followed Max anyway. 

 

Hidden behind a cluster of trees, Max could make out Isabel much better. Her hair, spilling like tar across her shoulders, made it obvious she was the one Max was looking at, and her cute little board shorts made it even more apparent. (Seriously, did they even had board shorts that nice in the 60’s?) The boy with her was harder to identify, though Max had an inkling of who it was. The boy had his back to Max- his broad, stocky back, clad in a leather jacket. His hair was gelled back, though the color wasn’t clear in the half-light, and his voice was low and smooth. 

 

“Ed?” Max whispered. “Who’s voice is that?” 

 

Eyes still closed, Ed scrunched up his face and listened intently. The music slipped over the two of them, harmonies twisting themselves up Max’s brain and making the night feel heady and insubstantial. Max almost didn’t notice Ed tensing up next to him, or his tiny voice saying, “That’s- that’s Johnny Jhonny.” 

 

Max didn’t quite realize what Ed had said until the last dregs of music had flown over him, and even then he wasn’t quite sure why it mattered. Johnny Jhonny? He sounded like a nerd. Isabel could date a nerd, though, it was her choice. Plus, said nerd had a really good voice. It was almost like the two of them were meant to be. Meant to be, like- 

 

“Max?” Ed prompted. “Johnny Jhonny, remember? Leader of the greasers? He may have a smooth baritone, Max, but he is  _ not _ fit for my sister.”

 

Max shut his eyes and cleared all thoughts from his head, then crouched back down behind the bushes with Ed. “Look, Ed,” he said, peering around a tree. “Look at the happiness in your sister’s face, as she- open your eyes, Ed, c’mon. How long have they been closed for? Just look at them.” 

 

Head poked around the tree, Ed stared at the two of them. Isabel was sitting on the hood of a car, watching Johnny as he paced before her, and the look she had on her face was- odd. She seemed to be happy, but still undecided about something, or hesitant. The expression certainly wasn’t one Max had thought Isabel would make, at least, and Ed seemed to think the same thing. He huffed a little and turned back to face Max, lips pressed together, and told him, “Okay, so, she looks happy. I guess. Maybe. But this Johnny dog is still lesser than her. She’d be settling for him, even if he’s nice and all.” 

 

“Does this mean you’d help me get them together?” Max asked, pulling out something close to a grin. 

 

Ed wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. I guess. Sure.” 

 

Max almost smiled for real this time. If he was right and Isabel and Johnny were endgame, as Sam would put it, then he was gonna need all the help he can get. 

 

(God, getting people together is hard. Max hasn’t even started yet and he’s already faced, like, eight million different problems. How do people in rom-coms do it?)

 

\-----

 

“Okay,” Ed started, leaning over his milkshake. They were in the diner, surrounded by hordes of partying teenagers, but Max felt like no one noticed them drawing up their battle plans. “Where will we start?” 

 

Max took a sip of his Pepsi and, hesitantly, said, “Well, I think we need to convince Izzy that she  _ should _ date Johnny. Is there gonna a time we can corner her and convince her that Johnny would be a great... uh, boyfriend, I guess?”

 

Slowly, Ed began to grin. His smile was devious, like Zoey's when she was plotting something, and Max was ever so slightly afraid. “She’s gonna have a sleepover tomorrow night. We can force her hand then, in front of all her friends.”   
  


Max shrugged an agreement, because really, he wasn’t going to argue with a Guerra on a mission, even a tiny blond one. Half a day in Isabel’s company had taught him at least that. “Well, I guess we’re gonna have to crash her sleepover.” 

 

“And tomorrow we can hang around here and harass Johnny!” Ed said enthusiastically. 

 

Max hummed an agreement, and that was that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, banging pots and pans together: HOW THE HECK DO YOU WRITE ED
> 
> (also they're not actually like, drinking alsohol in this, they're just tired and partying and stuff. don't do alcohol kids. also they're not twelve in this for the record.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the amazing damgiftshop for betaing! (you one of da best, bro. one of da best)

“I’m telling ya, you’ve gotta think of the whole thing as, like, a tricycle. You can’t lean on one wheel, but instead you’ve gotta use all eight brakes,” Ed said, leaning against the table, and Max was sure his eyes were bright behind his glasses. 

Max blinked, “I’m sorry, what?” 

It was the morning after the party. After getting back to the Guerra’s house last night, the two of them had just collapsed on the couch. When they woke Ed insisted that they head over to the corner store to scope out some Johnnies. That had mostly seemed to entail getting milkshakes and relaxing in the sunlight window booth, but Max wasn’t going to stop that. 

Ed jerked a head to the bar, where a dark-haired girl was cleaning a glass and eyeing them warily. “I’m making sure Lisa’ll leave us alone,” he whispered, fiddling with his straw. Max nodded and held back a yawn. 

“Ed-die,” Max had whispered, late late late last night as they stumbled back into the Guerra house. “Why are you so…so okay with the idea of Isabel and John, like, being together?” 

Ed had pulled in a breath, like he didn’t have enough air in his lungs, and turned on a hallway lamp. “It’s just…” he started. “I… Johnny isn’t that bad of a guy, not really, and Izzy should be happy. And Isaac would give them enough trouble about it, so…” 

Despite the words coming from his mouth, Ed’s voice was fractured and delicate, like thin slices of sea glass, and his back was all dark lines and curved shoulders. Max couldn’t help but think that even if he was okay with the idea of Isabel and Johnny, it was hard to let go of some things. What those things were, though- Max wasn’t sure.

In the light of morning, Ed looked like something sprightly and bright. A fairy, maybe, though Max was pretty sure there are evil fairies of some sort. The Unselkies? He wasn’t sure; fairy tales have always been his father’s thing.

The girl at the bar was still looking at them funny, and Ed didn’t seem to be noticing, so Max took it upon himself to walk over to the bar and talk to her. Walking across the room felt funny with her eyes on him, but he managed to sit down without messing anything up, so she softened a little. 

Max didn’t smile winningly, but he unknit his eyebrows enough to make them friendly. “So,” he tried, “How ‘bout another milkshake?” 

The girl’s lips twitched up at the corners; Max could tell she was amused by something. “If you’re looking for Johnny,” she told him, leaning against the counter and grabbing another glass to polish, “he won’t come in until twelve.” 

When Max did something close to gaping, she added, “Ollie’ll stop by at ten, though.” 

Max wasn’t sure who Ollie was, but he nodded anyway and wandered back to the table. Still messing with his straw, Ed raised an eyebrow, as if telling Max to sit. 

Max sat. Halfheartedly, he shrugged at nothing, then told Ed, “Ollie’s dropping in at ten, but Johnny won’t be here till twelve.” 

Ed’s other eyebrow shot up to join its mate. “Well,” he said, and Max would’ve called his tone ‘surprised’ if he thought Ed was capable of that. “I guess we have enough time to get you some new clothes, then.” 

Max looked down at his clothes. The shirt was Isabel’s- a viciously red tee that looks more seventies than sixties- but the board shorts were the ones Max was wearing when he washed up on the beach. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he heard himself say, and he almost hates how much it sounds like something the protagonist of a chick flick would say right before she got her makeover. 

Ed grins like chick flick protagonist’s new best friend, and Max can feel the montage coming. 

(What genre is this film trying to be? And why does Max get a montage when he’s not even the main character?)

\-----

They passed the next three hours shopping at a tiny little mall smack dab in the middle of the beach. Max complained about the sand getting everywhere and Ed spent too much time talking to the kiosk managers and Isabel was spotted at least three times, but it was- good. Overall, it was good. And if Max spent a few minutes wishing Sam or Zoey or Doghouse or even his father were there, then, well, it’s not like Ed even knew who any of them were. 

Their shopping outing ended at 11:46, when Ed decided that Max had enough clothes to last him till at least Sunday. The walk back to the cornerstore would take ten minutes. Ed didn’t offer to carry the bags, though, so Max had to haul all eight bags on his own. At the very least, he thought, it’d be some sort of a work out.

“Come on, Max!” Ed called, skipping in front of him on the tiny path leading to the cornerstore. “If you take so long, Johnny’s gonna be gone when we get there!” 

Max was opening his mouth to reply when they emerged from the path, and then Max was too busy ogling the muscles of a guy with a workout that must’ve put Max’s to shame. Johnny Jhonny’s arms were uncovered, and Max was seeing them in good lighting for the first time.

Ed frowned a little, mouth tugging down at corners. “Well,” he said, “Johnny.” 

In the light of day, Johnny Jhonny looked different from what Max imagined. The sunlight turned his hair into fire, for one thing, and his arms were even more impressive when the muscles were defined in the daylight. Even his eyes- brown, almost golden- were more piercing in the light. He may have been lounging around on a surely uncomfortable metal seat, but Johnny looked like he ran this town; the cigarette in his hand didn’t help much either. Max tried not to shiver. 

Johnny stood. His voice was deep and thick, like treacle, but it had an undercurrent of wariness that kept Max on his toes. “Well. Ed.” 

Throat suddenly dry, Max licked his lip and said, “Look, can you finish all your posturing and cut to the point? The part where we sprint back to Ed’s house in-” he checked his watch- “six hours, that’s probably going to get cut out, but I’d like to avoid sprinting. Can we just, like, sing a song or form a long-lasting friendship or whatever within our limited timeframe?” 

Without taking his eyes off Max- his golden, honey and fire and pure light eyes- Johnny dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with one slim leather boot. “Eddie,” he said, “where the hell did you find this kid?” 

Max wasn’t going to break eye contact with Johnny, but he could hear Ed shrug. “Dunno, man. He washed up on the beach yesterday.” 

“Oh. Well. That explains, um. Nothing.” Johnny stood for a second, still grinding the cigarette butt into the ground, then spun around to pull open the door. 

Max stared at him. 

“Well?” Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He jerked his head towards the inside of the cornerstore, towards Lisa and her bar, and as Max walked inside he tried not to trip with his gaze on him.

“Since when have you held doors open?” he heard Ed ask behind his back. He was smiling at least a little, Max was sure, but Lisa was probably smirking more. He headed over to the bar. 

In the dappled afternoon sunlight, the tiny bar portion of the cornerstore looked like something out of a twenties detective show. Beams of sun danced across bottles containing liquid the same color as Johnny’s eyes, and Lisa was polishing another glass like the bar’s gruff-yet-helpful bartender. Actually, Lisa had been in that exact same position this morning- it might have even been the same glass. 

“You need anything, mister?” she asked, and Max was sure she was smirking harder than Ed was. 

He leaned against the counter, sucking air in and out and in and out and in and out, then slowly lifted his head. “Y’know,” he started, and Lisa’s company felt oddly welcome in the minefield of weirdness the sixties had been. “I ordered a milkshake about three hours ago and it still hasn’t come. Know anything about that?” 

Lisa grabbed a martini shaker and a carton of milk, smiling in a not-quite sincere way. Max knew that smile; he had mastered it, and it was easily returned. “Sir, I’m afraid there’s been a backlog today,” she told him, filling up the martini shaker, “but one milkshake is coming up.” 

Max's smile wasn't anymore sincere, but it was maybe a little less strained. Lisa, he thought, was easy to talk to, though he wasn't sure why. 

\-----

Max didn’t understand why Ed was singing. 

He didn’t understand why Johnny and his goons were singing, either. 

He didn’t understand why Lisa was playing a guitar solo on top of the bar, or why she was wearing neon yellow jeans. 

He really, really didn’t understand why he felt the inexplicable urge to sing along.

He also didn’t understand what Ed and Johnny were singing about. It may have been a metaphor for pie; it may have been about Isabel; it may have been Ed insulting Johnny’s taste in clothes. Really, who wrote movie soundtracks? 

His father would probably have known that. It was the sort of obscure thing his father knew. 

Zoey probably would have turned this into the sort of ridiculous joke thirteen year olds found hilarious, and Doghouse would have laughed along, and Sam- 

Max should really figure out what they’re singing about and join in before the scene changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on tumblr if you wanna, or don't. or do. doing is an option.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when this has been written for like a week but you just haven't put it up yet... ;-;
> 
> also i'm sorry isabel is so ooc pls someone like. make one of those things that remind people about a characters qualities so i can use it everytime i write her

“...Max? Max?”

Max’s head snapped up to look at Isabel. She was standing in the doorway, one hip cocked against the door frame, and when Max raised an eyebrow at her, she smiled. “He’s ready.”

Nervous, Max stood and rearranged his limbs. Isabel lead him to her room, to a giggling semi-circle of sixteen year old girls and- and Ed.

Max tried to keep his mouth closed, though he wasn’t sure he managed. Ed looked exactly like a twenty first century teenager- right down to the salmon shorts and boat shoes. Max didn’t even want to _think_ about how Isabel got boat shoes.

 

After Ed and Johnny had made some sort of deal- really, Max wasn’t sure what they did- they’d all hiked back up to Ed’s house to crash Isabel’s party.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Max found himself asking as Johnny glanced at the pastel curtains on the upper floor for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t his house, sure, but- oh. Ed was shaking his head.

Max ignored it.

Johnny studiously avoided Max’s eyes as Max avoided Ed’s, replying, “No, it’s- I’d probably spread grease over everything.” Then he’d spun on his heel, cronies following suit, and barked at Max, “Besides, having one song together does not constitute as friendship!”

Ed leaned back against the wall as Johnny marched down the hill, watching his figure fade off into the distance. For a few seconds he was silent. “Max,” he began quietly. “You know Gramps- he- it’s his house, and me ‘n’ Izzy- we can’t- people like us don’t-”

“Oh,” Max said. “Oh. Yeah.

 

Max sat down on the floor of Isabel’s bedroom, surrounded by girls, along with ‘the typical future teen’ version of Ed. Max didn’t know what they were doing. He really didn’t want to.

“Well?” Isabel challenged, grinning. “Can’t you imagine kids looking like this is twenty years?”

Max’s eyes widened involuntarily- comparing anything from his generation to something from the eighties automatically made him want to throw up. “Uh,” he tried, and the rest of his words got stuck in his throat.

Isabel pushed on. “And now it’s your turn! Max-” she threw her arms out wide, the clothing draped off her arms floating in the air, and Max disliked the way her eyes glinted. “Dress me up like one of those fancy girls in the future.”

Max worried the skin on his lip, shoved a hand into the jeans Ed got him. Ed glanced at him helplessly from his spot in the circle of girls and shrugged; Max entered Isabel’s closet.

Isabel’s closet, while large and intimidating, reminded Max of his parents’ closet back at him: stuffed to the brim with clothes and worthless things and memories. There was old pieces of homework piled on top of madras skirts, broken knickknacks on red board shorts, and at least three different types of perfumes mingling together. The feel of it- the feel of a closet that had seen a little girl and an awkward teen and a blossoming adult all in one lifetime- it made Max’s heart clench in a way he couldn’t describe.

A girl’s voice floated out from Isabel’s room. “Maxwell? You good in there?”

He swallowed and called out, “Yeah, I’m good. Just… what look am I going for?”

The girl, one Max couldn't remember talking to, laughed. “I think she wants something she'll be wearing when she's forty and has three kids, though-” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Max could hear the grin in it- “I’d prefer to see her as a greaser.”

Max’s knowledge of greasers was limited to reading ‘The Outsiders’ in eighth grade- and that was the year he slept through- but he could guess what she meant. “Yeah,” he replied, attempting to pull a smile into his voice. “I’ll- I’ll try my best.”

Chewing the inside of his lip, Max fingered a floral dress and shook his head. Greaser was like kind of Johnny, he knew that. Greaser was leather jackets and thin t-shirts, and- and when did Max become the obligatory gay best friend, the one who knew all about clothes and little else? Or, rather, the sixties version of the gay best friend; Max was fairly certain a person would be locked up in jail for liking the same gender in the sixties.

Pressing his lips together, Max grabbed a thin red top and the one pair of jeans in Isabel’s closet before heading back out. Ed had pulled off the boat shoes, though he’d kept the shorts, and the flock of girls had fled behind the folding screen to laugh about something, their whispers heavy with laughter and secrets.

Isabel poked her head over the top of the screen and made grabby hands at the clothes in Max’s hands. “If you got something totally gross…” she warned, and Ed giggled.

“No, seriously, if you put together an ugly outfit the fashion gods might come down and strike you down,” one of the other girls said, poking her head around the edge of the screen. Her friends murmured their assent, words blocked by the fabric, and Max felt his eyes widen.

The girl laughed once, just enough to show Max she was joking, and retreated back behind the screen. The figures visible through the cloth returned to their movement, whispering and giggling, and one ordered, “Direct your gazes elsewhere, boys!”

Max sat down next to Ed on the carpet. It was soft and thick, and had a distinct lack of food crumbs buried inside, unlike Max's carpet back at home. He made eye contact with Ed for a second, then looked away. Absently, trying not to think of his old, stained carpet in his room in Baxborough, Max called out, “Hey, if a girl wanted a guy to like her, what would she do?”

The movement behind the screen slowed and Isabel poked her head back up. “Why, Max,” she said slowly, “You got someone on your mind?”

“No,” Max scoffed, stretching his legs out. “It was hypothetical.”

“Right,” said another one of the girl’s behind the screen- the one Max had a talked to in the closet, he thought, from the sound of her voice. “Hypothetical.”

“C’mon, Suzy, be nice,” Isabel told her, peering around to look at Max. “Well, first off," she told him, "I wouldn’t, because Gramps would rather die than have me go out with a boy before I'm thirty. But, girls-” she hummed- “you’d be coy, right?”

“Yep,” another one chirped. “Talk about how great he is at surfing. Maybe bake him a pie.”

Max considered this, staring at his wave-roughed ankles. They seemed very surfer-like here in Isabel's bedroom, against her dark red carpet, which struck him as odd, because Isabel seemed to be more of a surfer than he was. “What if,” he said slowly, “the boy… didn’t surf?”

“Didn’t surf?” Suzy asked him, disbelieving. “The surfer girls wouldn’t even consider it if the boy was a greaser, or- or a biker or something.” She smiled a little, bit her lip. "A surfer girl would under no circumstances date a biker," she said, and the room at large giggled. 

Ed wrinkled his nose, and Max asked, “So what, you couldn’t take a guy out just because he’s a biker?” 

Suzy grinned at him from over the top of the cloth screen and said, “Max, the tide wouldn’t take a boy out if he’s a biker.” The mass of girls behind the folding screen laughed softly again, and a few murmured quiet things to each other.

“Oh, but you’ve got nothing against Soc boys,” another girl teased.

“I’m not a surfer. I wouldn’t go within ten feet of a bike, but I’m not touching the water either,” Suzy replied as the herd of people walked out from behind the screen. The were gathered around Isabel, Max realized, to cover her up. Suzy had a wicked glint in her eye as she continued, “And here… is…. Isabel!”

The crowd parted dramatically, arms waving. Max could only gape at the sight of Isabel in rolled up jeans and a t-shirt. She didn’t look like a biker- she wasn’t covered in leather or hair grease- but she could pass for something else, that was for sure. Ed made a gasping noise in the back of his throat.

Isabel smiled at Max, almost teasing. “Very futuristic, don’t you think?”

Max pulled on a blank expression and nodded.

Isabel changed the subject. “But. If I was going to date someone-” she walked over to Max and took a seat on the carpet. The others girls joined them, and Max felt as though he had intruded on one of the exclusive sleepovers Zoey had always banned him from visiting “-I’d make it casual. Ask the boy out without asking him, because I definitely cannot be the person askin'.” The rest of the circle nodded among themselves, nudging each other and whispering things. One laughed at a quiet comment, and others had to bite down smiles. Max felt like even more of an intruder.

“But that’s ridiculous!” Max felt himself protesting. “Girls can ask guys out!”

One of the girls- Sarah, he thought her name was- laughed. “That’s silly,” she said, and then- Max felt the horror of the situation dawn on him- she started to sing.

“When you meet a girl you like… you should take my advice...“ she sang, along with the other girls. Even Suzy was into it, doing the arm movements and weird harmonization and Max had forgotten how really, really weird this was. His last song with Johnny seemed only moments ago, but he didn't sing in that. This... this was something different.

And then Ed joined in. “Girls like boys… like me,” he told the room, his high-pitched voice suddenly becoming a baritone. His teeth were glittering in a way that made them look photo shopped.

Max had one option left. As Ed sang, “ Take the lead, she likes it when you’re in control,” Max scrambled up next to him, ungainly and unprepared, and tried to match the girls’ head bops. Relatively in tune, he tried,

“Let ‘em breathe, chill out and go with the flow.”

Ed scrunched up his nose at Max’s interruption but continued anyway. “Make all the plans,” he told Max, swaying his hips, and the girls made noises of approval.

“Don’t be impolite,” Max argued.

Together, they sang what seemed to be the chorus: “I know what girls, know what girls, yeah, I know what girls like.”

Max scrunched his eyebrows at Ed. What were they doing? Max was repeating Ed’s earlier line in a mocking, sarcastic way, but was this actually turning into some pop number about gender stereotypes?

Then Isabel decided to attack him from the other side. “A quick glance, bat your eyes and look away,” she told him, apparently gifting him with flirting techniques. Max didn’t know what this had become.

Still, he attempted to reason with her. “Take a chance, why not ask him on a date?” he suggested. “Pick up the check.”

“No!” the girls all squealed. “Bake him a pie,” Suzy recommended stoically, and Max almost laughed at her battle-hardened, pie-baking wisdom. He would have laughed, that is, if the situation hadn’t been so ridiculous.

On his left, Ed told him, “I know what girls like, you know what I mean,” and on the other, Isabel sang, “I know what boys like, boys like girls like me.” Max was caught between a rock and a hard place, but still he argued,

“I know what girls like, girls like boys like me.”

Isabel pressed her lips together and told him, “I know what boys like, boys like girls like me.”

“Like me!” Ed exclaimed, ruffling his hair.

“Like me!” another girl proclaimed.

Isaac of all people stuck his head through the doorway, a plate of pie in hand, and told the room, “Like me.”

“Like me,” Suzy said, tossing her head.

Max sighed and tried, “Like me.”

“Like me,” Isabel said, hand on her hip, allowing no room for argument.

Isaac took a few steps into the room, and, when no one protested, told Max, “Hang with the guys, don’t let her know how much you care.”

Max frowned and sang back, “Look in her eyes, let her know how much you care.”

“You got it wrong,” Ed responded, sounding thoroughly convinced that this was the way to treat the girls, and Max decided that he had some problems with the sixties.

“No, I got it right,” Max told him. God, no wonder there were no good female characters in films. The sexism in the foundation of the business would keep girls in movies thoroughly one-dimensional for a really long time, if this was what it was like fifty years ago.

Isaac tried to lock eyes with Max, but Max ignored him as they sang, “I know what girls, know what girls, yeah, I know what girls like.”

Then Sarah had a good couple of lines about clothing and Isabel made some gooey eyes about a boy- no second guesses who, though, really, Max thought, she said she wouldn’t date anyone- and Isaac and Ed pulled him into a another room for his second change to sixties clothes that day, and somewhere along the way it was decided that when the girls stayed up late and giggled over movies and lipstick and surfboards, the boys would have a sleepover of their own.

That night, as Max slept next to Isaac on the floor of Ed’s room, he asked, “Why’d you come to the Guerra’s anyway?”

Isaac hummed noncommittally and was quiet for a few seconds. Eventually he told Max, “Just wanted some pie,” and turned onto his side.

Max didn’t buy it, but he said nothing. Still, he found himself whispering to Isaac’s back, “...Isaac? How’d you feel if one of your surfer girls, like Sarah or somebody… dated a biker?”

The steady, even rise-fall of Isaac’s back stopped. “How’d you feel,” Isaac whispered back, “if you never got home again?”

The thought stilled Max’s blood, and he didn't even try to protest Isaac's subject change. “I…” he tried, but Isaac interrupted with,

“I don’t know where you came from, Max, but you’re strange and I… I think you haven’t thought about going home. And… and…” he paused, making a noise like he was sucking on his lip. “And I think your family might… miss you.”

Max rolled onto his back, hands clenched in his t-shirt, and swallowed. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, not sure if Isaac could hear him. “I… I think they might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song bits came from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uL4ntL58hfk (i'm too lazy to make a proper link and stuff soz) and honestly. what a good song. 
> 
> thanks for reading! have a good week/month/however long it is til the next chap is posted


	5. Chapter 5

When Max woke up the next morning, the room was silent. 

Ed’s spot on the bed was empty, though Isaac was still warm next to him, and the room was silent. Even Isaac’s deep inhales and exhales didn’t make a smidgen of noise, and Max was… unsettled. He wasn’t used to this much quiet- at home he had his father, and Zoey, and often Doghouse, and in Mayview there was Ed’s voice and musical numbers and background tracks. 

Now, though, it was totally quiet, and Max had no idea why. 

He clambered up off the pile of blankets, careful not to disturb Isaac, and poked his head out of the doorway. Even the hallway was silent- there were no giggles coming out of Isabel’s room, no snores emitting from Grandfather Guerra’s. He tiptoed over to the staircase and peered down onto the bottom floor, and still he could hear nothing. 

Max ghosted down the steps, feet as light as he could possibly make them. The living room was empty, he found, as was the hallway. The entire house seemed to be utterly devoid of people, apart from Isaac, though he was safely cocooned upstairs. Even so, the hairs on the back of Max’s neck were prickling. The air in the kitchen felt very cold as he stopped there. 

“Hi,” said a voice behind him, and Max near had a heart attack. He whirled around, clutching the edge of the counter, and sighed lightly when he saw a short, dark-haired boy behind him. 

“Hi,” the boy repeated. Max let go of the counter. 

“Hello,” he replied, cautious. The boy, upon closer inspection, was several years younger than Max- maybe twelve?- and looked a little lost and forlorn. With a start, Max realized that his edges appeared to be flickering, going from hyper realistic to blurred and faded every millisecond. It was- scary, Max thought, but at the same time rather cool. The film must have been damaged, maybe- that was the only explanation his mind could come up with for the ghost-like flickering.

“Who’re you?” the kid asked, edging closer. 

“Who’re _you_?” Max countered. After all, he’d never seen the boy before, and now he was standing in the Guerra’s kitchen looking like something from The Ring come to life. Had this suddenly become a horror film? God, he hoped not. 

“I’m PJ,” the boy said brightly, like he didn’t notice his obvious problem. He offered his hand to Max, who took after a few hesitant seconds. PJ's grip was surprisingly strong, though cold. 

“Maxwell,” offered Max. “Though you can call me Max.” 

PJ’s eyes widened, and his figure flicked purple for a second. “Oh, _Max_?” 

“Yeah,” Max replied warily. “What, have you heard anything about me?” 

“Nope,” he said, though it sounded like a lie. Keeping his eyes on Max the whole time, PJ took a seat at the table. 

“Alright,” Max replied, taking a seat across from him. PJ was lying, he was sure of it, but he didn’t want to scare the kid off. Instead, he asked, “So why haven’t I seen you around? And why are you in the Guerra’s house?” 

PJ licked his lips, and Max suddenly saw how hollow his young, guarded eyes looked. They were sad and tired and so weighted down with bags Max was sure the boy had never been in any scenes with Max, not even in the background- Max would have noticed such a forlorn expression. Maybe he’d be introduced later? Max didn't know. PJ seemed like he'd turn this movie into something else, and suddenly Max was unsure of what it was really about. Was it a romantic comedy starring Johnny and Isabel? Was it a coming-of-age film featuring Ed Burger and his sidekick, Max? Was it actually about Isaac? 

No, Max doubted it was about Isaac. He was angsty and emotional and ready for the silver screen, but his life was more… soap opera material. 

PJ swallowed loudly, bringing Max out of his thoughts, and said, “I- You’re not from around here, are you, Max?” 

Max froze. “No,” he said carefully, defensively. “I’m not.”

PJ drummed his fingers on the table for a second, all nervous energy, then stopped himself. “Then you know… about this… town. How this town is. It’s different right?” 

Max leaned forward. His heart was loud in his ears, so loud he was afraid PJ could hear it. “Yes,” he replied quietly, breath a hair faster than normal. PJ exhaled heavily, like he was relieved. “Do you… do you know?” Max pressed. 

PJ exhaled again, quieter this time. “It’s why I’m like this,” he said eventually. Gesturing to himself- to his flickering, Max realized- he said, “One day I just thought, ‘Why is everyday so… so similar? Why do I miss huge bits of time, just going from one dramatic event to another?’ And then… the next thing I knew I was like this, and no one could see me, except for I think Mr. Guerra and his student can sometimes, but… I’m left watching these events play out over and over and over again, and nothing changed til you came here.” 

It was a lot to take in. Head spinning, Max sat back and tried to figure it all out. PJ figured out that he was in a movie, and now he was a ghost? And why could Mr. Guerra and his ‘student’ see him? Just what was going on? 

Max leaned forward again, looking PJ in the eye. “I’m gonna be honest: I don’t really know what’s going on, but I’ll try and help. You can trust me, okay?” 

PJ nodded, reaching across the table to grip one of Max’s hands with his own cold, clammy one. 

Max leaned farther forward. “Now, tell me everything you know about this movie.” 

\-----

Honestly, PJ’s story was… a wild ride. 

(There were alternate dimensions? And magic? And _surfing_? Definitely Max’s type of movie.) 

(Apart from the pointless romantic subplots. Those, Max could miss.) 

When PJ was finished, Max let out one long breath, then stood to make coffee. Who could blame him? It was a lot to take in. 

Back to PJ, voice carefully contained, Max asked, “So… what you’re telling me… is that the only way to get out of this film is to see it through to the end?” 

Max couldn’t see PJ’s face, but he had a feeling that it, too, was forced blank. “Yes,” PJ said, voice untouchable. Sunlight filtered through the tap water in a way that felt false, unreal. The scent coming from the coffee beans was hard to grasp- Max thought it might have smelled like vanilla, or cake batter, or something else that made his head spin. “And,” PJ added, his voice still unreadable, “I… can come with you.” 

Max dropped the coffee pot on the counter and grips the edges of the sink. It was all a lot to take in, he thought frantically, defending himself against his own thoughts. “Okay,” he said, “okay. Just- do you know how hard it will be to come out of the ocean after a week, or- or a month, or however long I've been here, not even mentioning bringing along a small child that came from nowhere?” 

PJ didn't reply. It was probably a good thing, because Max was on the edges of a rant, and anyone talking to him would just add fuel to the fire. “And what about Ed, or Isabel, or Lisa? Do they get to come back to the real world, or will they just be frozen in the credits of a low-budget family drama from fifty years ago?” The idea of that, of letting actual real life people who seem to have problems and personalities and _lives_ become frozen in time, or endlessly repeating their stupid movie’s plot, is enough to slow Max down. “I…” Shoulders sinking, Max stopped. He would have faced PJ again, or sunk to the floor, or _something_ , but. He does not know what to do. 

It’s an odd feeling. Max is good at doing stuff, at taking charge, at being the first to barrel down a hill at top speed. Knowing what to do is what Max knows what to do. When faced with powerlessness, the only thing left for him was to grip the damp sink’s edges and _think_. 

It took a while. Max stood, with tense shoulders and a splitting headache, and puzzled over his situation. No angle was left unobserved, no person left unthought about. PJ didn’t speak the whole time, which left Max no distractions, no room to let his brain slow down. Finally, after the sunlight had shifted far across the kitchen floor and tiny noises had started coming from the upper level, Max straightened his shoulder, turned back to PJ, and nodded. 

“I’ve got this,” he told PJ, quiet but determined. “I’m gonna need you later, though, so… stick arou-”

“Max,” Isabel called, bounding into the kitchen. “I thought I heard you down hear. Talking to yourself, huh?” She didn’t seem to notice the ghostly boy sitting at her table, just grinned at Max with her hair a-muss, cute sleepwear messy. 

“Just going over the pancakes recipe,” Max replied easily, not letting himself think about the ghost at the kitchen table, or the plan festering in Max's head, or the last time he made pancakes. That had been- well, it was mostly a disaster, but without Damien or Zoey, he figured he’d be alright. “Unless you don’t want any?” 

“Never,” Isabel said seriously, then pulled out a chair and sat, yawning. “The girls’ll be down soon, but they didn’t want to be seen by you or Ed or Isaac without brushing their hair. I don’t blame them- my brother is a catch.” She looked over at Max and smiled, adding, “Though I’m not to sure about you.” 

Max shrugged. Typically, when adults asked about girlfriends, he’d give them a tight smile and say that he wasn’t looking for that. When friends said something, though, he’d have to sit them down and talk about aromanticism and answer all their questions, and _then_ he’d do the exact same thing for asexuality. Pulling out the eggs and milk, he puzzled over telling Isabel. She was nice, but the girl wouldn’t even consider going out with Johnny, just because he was a biker. It was… a dilemma. 

As Max pulled out the Bisquick- it was in an old-fashioned box that looked really weird, but every kitchen kept their Bisquick in the pantry. Max wasn’t sure why, because it was a proven fact that if you didn’t freeze it, it’d go funny- Isabel grabbed the mixing bowls and a whisk, then made grabby-hands at the box of Bisquick til Max handed it over. Wordlessly, she dumped the milk and pancake mix into the biggest bowl, then cracked in the eggs, and Max leaned back against the counter and watched her whisk furiously, hair slipping out from behind her ear to cover her face, curtain-like. She’s meant for the fictional sixties, he thought, suddenly and fiercely. Isabel Guerra was a human hurricane, and she only functioned in places like Mayview, where the sunlight spread across cold tile without getting in your eyes, where you could whisk pancake batter as hard as you wanted and none of it would drip down onto the counter. 

Max... Max, he realized, didn’t fit like Isabel, but at the same time, he did fit. Isabel was just a puzzle piece shoved into another spot. 

Isabel turned back to Max, a smile in her eyes but not on her mouth, and placed the mixing bowl back on the counter. The smile faded out of her eyes, filling itself with the careful look of a person who’s seen disasters and doesn’t want to start another. For a few long seconds, she didn’t say anything, and then, “Get my brother, will you? He’s probably in the front yard.” 

Max nodded, chewing the inside of his lip, and walked out. PJ followed him to the hallway, silent, and the two of them marched down the hall together. Outside, Ed was doing some weird tai chi/yoga/slow dancing, so Max waited until he was finished to call him inside. Ed didn’t even notice, just continued swaying and waving his arms, and Max leaned against the porch railing. PJ sat on the swing, and the two of them watched Ed move through the dew covered lawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so like. a) this has taken me ~95 thousand years bc of moving house and friendship and an attempt to use the computer less often, which is something i'd like to apologize for, but unfortunately i'm going back to school very soon. like. in less than a week :| so i'm not gonna promise anything, but like. this may take a while. soz!!


	6. The End (or; the credits roll)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the anon(s if it was actually two separate people) who inspired me to. actually write this. you the real mvp(s). ilysm.

When Max finished with his pancakes, PJ was waiting behind his chair. He touched a cold finger to Max’s neck, questioning, and Max nodded once, just for him to see. 

As he stood up from the table, Suzy smiled at him. Her smile was sharp and knife like- _like his own,_ Max thought, _in the view from the mirror._ He smiled back, and Suzy’s smile turned a little less biting. She turned her head back to her pancakes; Max turned away, dishes in hand, and caught Isabel’s eyes sharp on him. 

She didn’t say anything, but Max thought she might have questions, maybe. Questions, though, would be hard to answer- he had to get his brain in order. He had to get Isabel and Johnny to go out, he had to find a way out of this movie, and he had to bring PJ with him. Could he do any of that? 

He bit his lip, hard, and dropped his plate in the sink. Isabel jammed a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed forcefully; Max could feel her prying eyes on him. 

Ed came in from the porch, damp from a dew and grinning. His smile grew when he saw the pancakes, and he dove in before Isabel could even finish chewing. Suzy and the rest of the girls watched with amusement as he picked up two pancakes and shoved them whole into his mouth.

“So, Max,” he said around the pancakes. “What do you think of that Johnny Jhonny?” He winked, and Max remembered that, oh, yeah, they were going to force Isabel’s hand in front of her friends. What an plan. It would do something. 

Only it didn’t, really- Isabel giggled, and so did everyone else. Violet- Lisa’s friend, Max remembered; they had spent a lot of time together at the party- had an amused look in her eyes, and Sarah elbowed Isabel and smiled at her food. 

“Oh, yes,” Suzy said, humor coloring her voice warm. “Tell us what you think of Johnny Jhonny, why don’t you?” 

Sarah giggled, and a blush spread high on Isabel’s cheeks. 

“I dunno,” Max said, eyeing the table. They all seemed to know something he didn’t, and Max was more than confused- he was lost in a sea of clueless. “Seems like an… interesting guy, to say the least.” 

“Johnny’s very interesting,” Violet told him, smile curling around her eyes. 

“That he is,” Isabel said. The table gave a little laugh. “But so is that Cody Jones- say, Violet, what do you think about Cody Jones?” 

Groaning, Violet slipped down in her seat a little and proclaimed, “I liked him a _tiny bit_ sophmore year and you never let it down!” 

“You were enamoured,” Suzy told her satisfiedly. 

“You said you’d love him till the day you died!” someone else piped up, and then the conversation dissolved into a dispute about Cody Jones and Violet’s undying love for him. 

Ed looked a little confused by where the conversation went, and Max felt the same way. Sitting back in his seat, he watched as the topic batted around, from boys to school to the beach to writing, and then it was at the day’s activities, and somehow Ed and Max and maybe even Isaac, if he ever got up, were all invited to the beach for some sun and sand. Instead of letting Max decide, Ed accepted for the both of them, but Max figured it couldn’t be that bad. He liked the beach, after all. 

He did not realize how bad it would be. 

The sixties didn’t have very good sunscreen. Of course they didn’t — sixties were some of the prime kill-yourself-with-sun-cancer years, but Max burnt easily, and he could practically feel himself frying with every second he sat on the beach. There was also an incredible amount of sand on the beach, which should have been expected, but it was _gross_.

Max surfed, but he did not like the sand that came with it. 

Instead of sitting on the beach, then, he borrowed Isabel’s board and surfed. He made his way out, a long way from the crowd and the sand, and dove under and pulled himself up and just let him body take over, let himself plant his feet and balance himself without his mind ever really being involved. Just the water soothing his sunburn and the beach’s noises covered by the surging waves. 

When he was a little kid, on the beach with too much energy and nowhere to put it, his mom had taken him out with a little starter board and tried to teach him. She'd be one the shore, Zoey clinging to her like a leech, and Max would be slamming his face into the sand and falling into water deeper than he was tall. Sometimes his mom would join him in the water, Zoey on her shoulders, and help him stay steady on the board, her hands gripping his as Zoey giggled. 

Max ended up back on the beach calmer, shoulders still burnt but head clearer. Ed joined him at the edge of the ocean, waves lapping at his ankles as Max dripped onto the sand, and nodded at the top of the beach, where the sand met the trees. There, clad in their leather and jeans despite the heat, were the bikers, talking amongst themselves as they pointedly ignored the people on the beach below them. 

Sighing, Max hefted his board and dug his toes into the sand. It burned the soles of his feet as he jogged over to Isabel to give her back the board- she took it with a smile, vaguely confused- and then turned to make his way up the hill. The sand had made its way between his toes when he reached Johnny, and he frowned. 

Johnny didn’t notice, still talking with RJ, running his hands through his hair. It was about something Max didn’t care about, but he waited to make a point. 

When Johnny finished, RJ nodded behind him at Max. Max nodded back, once, and RJ might have smiled. 

“So,” Johnny said, not turning around. “Whaddya want, new kid?” 

Max chewed his lip for a second, his breath caught in his throat, and RJ nodded again. They did not smile. Max dove in. 

“I’m from the future,” he said, “and you need to ask Isabel out.” 

 

 

That night, at Lisa’s diner, he slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a milkshake. 

“One for the road, huh?” Lisa asked, coy, behind the bar. 

Max leaned over the counter to grab a straw and shook his head. “Nah. Just felt a milkshake.” 

Lisa slid one over and smiled, sage. Max went back to his table. 

Suzy looked up from her pancakes and tugged Ed over. Grinning, he slid closed to the window, and Isabel smiled at Max as he sat next to Ed. He licked his lips and didn’t smile back. 

“So, uh.” He coughed and gripped his glass; it was cold and water was started to condense on the outside. “I think I’m going to be heading home soon.” 

No one gasped. Isabel rapped her knuckles on the table, thoughtful, but no one stared bug eyed at Max in shock. Not even Ed. 

“Why?” Isabel asked, dark eyes glittering in the fluorescent light. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Max shrugged, the knots in his back soft and stretching, and swallowed. His throat was dry, so he took an experimental slurp of his milkshake. It was strawberry — he hadn’t asked for a particular flavor, but of course Lisa knew his favorite. 

“I wanna go to the beach,” Ed said suddenly. He kept his face turned carefully away from Max. “If this is one of your last nights here, I want to go for a swim.” 

Max didn’t look at him as he nodded. 

After Max finished his shake and Isabel dropped a few bills on the table, they left the brightness of the cornerstone behind and headed for the edge of the ocean. Suzy kicked off her loafers and hiked up her skirt, and Ed ran to join her in the shallows. Isabel stayed with Max on the top of the hill, under the trees and above the waves. 

“What was your deal, Maxwell Puckett?” she asked, eyes on beach. 

Max rolled his head back. Above him, past the branches, the stars shone brightly. He didn’t know the patterns of the stars, hadn’t memorized constellations like Sam and Zoey used to, but he thought they looked different than his stars. 

“I don’t like getting close to a lot of people,” he said, and the stars above him swum and swirled before he pressed his eyes shut. “I trust my family, really. My best friends.” 

Isabel hummed distractingly. A reprise of the song she sang with Johnny, a song about love. Despite himself, Max matched one of her notes, and the music blended into the clear cool air and the sounds from the beach below them. 

He opened his eyes, and dropped his head, and looked over at Isabel. “But you guys have made it _so hard_ to not get close to you.” 

His voice cracked, and the tune Isabel was humming stopped abruptly. 

She flung herself over the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him. Max could feel her breath, fast and unsteady, as he gently placed his hands on her waist. 

“Can you blame us?” she asked, and her hair tickled Max’s cheek. “When you’re such a cool guy?” 

 

 

The next morning, as Max said his goodbyes to Sarah and Violet at the corner store, Johnny slammed the door open, eyes wild. In one hand he had roses, on his legs he had swim trunks, and in his voice he had an unsteady song. 

“Isabel Guerra!” he shouted. “I — like you! A lot!” 

Suzy’s mouth dropped open. Lisa smirked. 

“And as a testament to that!” Johnny yelled, steadily not looking at anyone but Isabel, “I am going! To jump! In! The ocean!” 

And with that, he threw the flowers in Isabel’s direction, turned on his heel, and ran to the beach. 

As crowds of people — Isaac and Cody and Jeff and Violet and Alex and the girl with pink highlights and Suzy — chased him to the beach, Max levelled a glance at the remaining crowd and smiled. “Well,” he told them, hefting his surfboard up to his hip, “I think it’s time for me to go.” 

“It’s been real,” Dimitri said, eyes half closed, and he smiled dangerously back at Max. 

Isabel was eyeing the door, but before following Johnny out, she gave Max one last fleeting hug. With that goodbye, she sprinted out the door and down the trail to the ocean, leaving behind the flowery scent of her shampoo and the afterimage of her hair streaming behind her. 

Lisa smiled and resumed cleaning her glasses. “Our paths may still cross again,” she told Max, and ducked behind the counter. 

Max blinked at her, but before he could give _that_ any thought, Ed Burger was launching himself forward with all the force his body had. He latched onto Max, tears transferring for his cheeks to Max’s shirt, and tucked his forehead into Max’s shoulder. 

“I’m gonna miss you, dude,” he said, quiet. 

Max’s throat was suddenly thick, unexplainably so. “Me too,” he said. “But it’s like the strange bartender said. Our paths might cross again.” 

“Doesn’t mean they will,” Ed said, and pulled away from Max. 

“Doesn’t mean they won’t,” Max argued. “And hey. Even if they don’t… I’m gonna. Carry you in my heart. Forever, y’know?” 

Ed wiped under his glasses. “Where’d you get such corny stuff?” he asked, voice clearing. 

Max snorted. “The future,” he said. Ed nodded sagely before turning on his heel and following the crowd down to the beach, where Max could see Johnny Jhonny stripping off his shirt. 

Max surveyed the cornerstore one last time — the light shining through the windows, the Guerra’s booth in the back corner. The poker table, half hidden behind a bookshelf. Dimitri, taking a nap at the bar. He was nostalgic for it already, for that perfect blend of dreamlike and old school, but Max had his kitchen table and father’s grilled cheese sandwiches, too. With a breath in, he made like Ed and turned around, heading to the beach. 

Isaac saw him slip into the water, board beneath one arm. They looked at each other, wordless, and Isaac nodded. His eyes were gleaming, bright and blue like the sky and the ocean and Zoey’s favorite shirt back home, and Max nodded back. Isaac broke into a smile. Max nodded again, and walked into the water. 

Just before he ducked under the perfect wave — the only wave on the still water — he heard a song rising behind him, reflecting off the water, reaching him warped and haunting. As Max stood on his board, balancing easily, because it was a second nature for him, he imagined the choir of them singing it, and he wanted to sing it, too. He was pretty sure he’d know the words. 

But then the wave knocked him flat, forced him to the bottom of the ocean, and when his head broke the surface he couldn’t hear the song anymore. Instead, there was a beach, closer than the one he left behind, the weather grayer and the crowd smaller. 

Max met Doghouse in the shallows, and he was grinning. “Dude, you wiped out! Look is like you got sandburn, jeez!” 

“Yeah,” Max says. “I really did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, y’all. this was it. I came back... for the end. :o! 
> 
> nah, I’m kidding ya. I actually plan on doing several more works in this series — some of them will be character studies for the various side ppl in this (bc i did not know what i was writing! so there are many, many side stories!!!!!) and some may be... errors. errors... in continuity. they may be... continuations. ;) 
> 
> but seriously. i’m so greatful if you’re actually here right now, reading this, when it’s been like a year since I last updated bc life kicked my ass. and if you stay with me as i try to make sense of this au, i will be even more greatful, and i will love you even more. thank you! hope to see you again.


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